The Rising Tide
by katia1
Summary: NOW COMPLETE: Syd and Nigel are stranded on a sandbank in the south pacific. They’ve got no food, hardly any water and, sadly, no rum! How will they survive?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimers: I don't ****own the characters from Relic Hunter and I make no money from my fiction writing.**

**Thanks to everybody who's been reading and reviewing 'Legend of Sydney and Nigel', which I updated ****yesterday (Friday). This is just a little taster for a short story I flagged up in the first chapter of that. Although it also reads as a completely 'standalone' piece, its part of the shared universe I write with Tanya Reed, in that Syd and Nigel are a couple – though not married or anything.**

**I hope you enjoy – and please review. **

…………………………………………………………….

'See you in Khartoum, you lowlife!'

Sydney, hands on hips, yelled defiantly at the fumy grey tug-boat as it chugged off towards the horizon.

'And don't you worry - I will _still_ get my hands on the Bora Bora Goddess before you!'

Sydney's strident shouts echoed weakly across the calm, blue ocean. They were lost in the sound of the gentle rise and fall of the waves long before they reached their target, or the endless curve at the edge of the world.

Nigel, who had slumped down onto his haunches on the clear, white sand, regarded her witheringly.

'And _how_ are we now going to get the Bora Bora Goddess before him?' he asked quietly.

Sydney broke her furious stare at the departing boat and turned to him swiftly. 'I don't know yet,' she snapped, unable to quite shake off her anger. 'It's going to be tricky because that creep Albertos is just sailing off with the map.'

Nigel squinted up at her in semi-disbelief. 'It's going to be difficult, yes! But surely the map is irrelevant - we've just been dumped on a remote sand bank in the middle of the South Pacific, not ten metres across! We've got no food, no communications, one bottle of water… and no shelter from the sun!' Nigel lifted his hand and wiped it across his sweat-drenched forehead. 'I'm already burning - I can feel it!'

'You do look a little pink, yeah,' replied Sydney, still quaking with annoyance. 'But don't worry - I'll get us out of here.'

'And how do you propose to do that?' asked Nigel, his exasperation growing.

'I'm working on it,' said Sydney firmly. 'We…uh, we just need to make a signal or something, so that the next ship through these parts will pick us up.'

Nigel threw himself back onto the warm, dry sand, his arms stretched out above his head. His sodden shirt hung wide open, ripped slightly from where he'd been roughed up by Albertos' henchmen, and revealed his smooth, pale torso to the elements. Gazing up at the flawless blue sky, he averted his eyes from the pitiless sun that was already scorching his flesh, blistering the skin on his cheek-bones and nose. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Sydney sit down beside him, fanning her face with her hand.

'We're going to have to build a fire, Nige,' she said matter-of-factly.

Nigel lifted his head slightly, scrunching his nose in disapproval. 'A fire?'

'To attract any ships we spot on the horizon,' explained Sydney. 'Nobody will see us if we just lie here…'

'That's blatantly obvious,' interjected Nigel. 'But what exactly are we supposed to build it with? This godforsaken place hasn't even got a palm tree on it…oh…no… you're _not_ suggesting that!'

Sydney winced apologetically

'No!' Nigel sat bolt upright. 'Not my clothes! I won't do it. There are some states in which it is just _not_ worth getting rescued!'

'Sorry,' said Sydney decisively, reaching across and wiping a strand of Nigel's shortish fringe from where it stuck to his brow. 'There's no choice - but, if it helps, we'll burn my stuff first. We'll get rid of my satchel, the contents, and my clothes, and save your gear until last. There's nothing wrong with being naked, Nigel, but I suppose we can't have you looking like a lobster!'

Nigel groaned piteously and threw himself backwards onto the sand again. This was it! He knew it. What an awful way to go….

………………………………

**Thanks for reading. Please review and I'll try and get the next bit up soon.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for those reviews , and to those of you who put the story on alert. I hope you enjoy the second bit, and please let me know what you think! Co-author credits on this chapter are owed to my 'other half', Chris. Extra cookies for anybody who can guess which bits were suggested by a boy!!**

Chapter 2

'You okay, Nige?'

'Not really…everything's gone a bit…hazy…'

Sydney, who had been hacking apart the thick fabric of her bag with a pen-knife, glanced across at Nigel. He was still lying on the sand, a little out of her reach, but he'd laid his shirt on his front, and partially over his face, to gain what shelter he could from the heat.

'You might be getting sunstroke,' offered Syd, sliding across the sand to his side and positioning herself deliberately so her shadow shaded him. 'You should probably cover your head completely.'

Nigel, on the contrary, pulled the shirt off his nose and mouth turned to face her; his lips were dry and peeling, his eyes disturbingly dull.

'It's hopeless isn't it?'

'No!' she shot back. 'I've not seen any ships yet, but there's hope. There's always hope… have you had any water lately?'

'No,' admitted Nigel morosely. 'There's only a drop left. But I've _seen_ enough of it. The tide's coming in.'

'What?'

'Since we've been here, this island has shrunk by at least a metre all the way around its edges.'

'But you've barely sat up! How can you know that?'

'I've been watching it since we got here,' he moaned, his voice cracking in his parched throat. 'The tides are notorious in this part of the Pacific. I've just been recalling that, in the early days of the British Empire, Captain Bligh and his ilk would drop off mutinous sailors or troublesome natives on the sandbanks as a form of punishment - it was relatively merciful, as it was known the victims would drown or be eaten by sharks before they were _quite_ fried to a crisp.'

'Nice!' Sydney responded with a curl of her lip. 'Well, we're not drowning _or_ frying today - and I'm sure as heck not in the mood to be eaten by sharks! You need to stop dwelling on things - you want to help build the fire? It's got to be ready to light the second we see a ship.'

Nigel just stared at her blankly, so Sydney moistened her lips, leaned in and kissed him. As she pulled away, her mouth curved into a sexy smile - it didn't matter where they were, it was still a novelty and a pleasure to be able to do that! It also had the desired effect: Nigel sat up, smoothed the back of his knuckles against her cheek, returned the kiss and sighed heavily.

'How do you manage to still look so beautiful?'

Sydney had not yet stripped off her clothes, although she had tied her shirt-ends together beneath her breasts, exposing her midriff, and her khaki shorts had _always_ been skimpy. Drinking in the sight of her, he observed that the sun hadn't reddened her exposed skin but rather, made it glow a radiant bronze; her flowing hair shimmered in the sunlight.

'I guess _not_ being raised in England helps build up a little resistance,' she smiled, hitching his shirt back up over his shoulders. 'Now, come on. I want this fire built before our ship arrives…and drink some water, Nige!'

………………………………………

The contents of Sydney's satchel were strewn out across the sand. They included all the usual essential female accessories – make-up, a vanity bag, hairbrush, perfume - and a few rather more eclectic items: her crossbow, torch, a hot-wire, a monkey wrench, some intercepted orders for a hit-man to kill her, a bag of third century Viking runes, and a strip of ancient papyrus.

'Well, the death warrant will blaze up nicely,' commented Nigel. 'It's a terrible shame about the papyrus, though. What's this?'

He scooped up what he believed resembled a piece of elastic, which had been sinking into the sand. 'It is a hairband? Or…ooooh!'

Sydney snatched away the item with a mirthful giggle, as Nigel flushed pink under his sunburn: 'No girl travels without a change of underwear!'

'Yes, well,' flustered Nigel. 'It's a shame you don't wear bigger knickers! They're not going to burn for long, are they?'

'I guess not,' laughed Sydney. She picked up a well-thumbed black, leather notebook. 'It'll be a shame to see _this_ go, though.'

'If you don't mind me asking, what is that?'

Nigel had seen the little book before, but Sydney had never shown it to him. Although they'd been 'together' a while, he was too much of a gentlemen to pry into areas of her life she didn't automatically share - in most circumstances.

'It's my little black book,' sighed Sydney, flicking affectionately through the pages. 'It's got all my addresses in it, and a few other notes. Karen has got all the important contact details recorded on a PC database now.' She paused, her eyes misting over. 'But it will still feel like burning a piece of my history. I've had it since I was 18.'

'I'm sorry,' said Nigel, compulsively intrigued. 'Maybe we should leave it until last?'

'No,' said Sydney resolutely. 'Paper is a great firelighter - we consign it to the flames! I'd better tear out the pages. You keep a lookout for ships.'

Nigel obeyed, gratefully noting that a gentle breeze had bubbled up, ruffling his hair and coolly caressing his hot, glowing face and bare arms. The intensity of the heat itself also appeared to be diminishing. The day was wearing on, he realised, and the sun was riding deep into the west. Nevertheless, there were still no ships to be seen, however hard he strained his eyes. And the tide was still rising…

After a few minutes of trying to pretend he was somewhere far, far away, Nigel felt something tickle against his barefoot. Glancing down, he picked up what appeared to be a piece of paper scratched in Sydney's familiar handwriting. Although he knew exactly what it must be, he couldn't help but scan his eyes over it quietly, registering, with a tiny pang of disappointment, that it was not a diary but merely a list of names and addresses.

'Uh, Syd?' He waved it at her. 'I think you lost a bit.'

'Oh,' she looked up suddenly. 'I guess it's this breeze. I'd better put these bits of paper under your boots or something, until we need them.'

Nigel leant over and handed the paper back, silently noting that several of the names were accompanied by dates and large, red biro numbers between three and eight.

He was curious, he couldn't help it - and, seeing as the hope of salvation was increasingly slim, he reasoned he might as well ask.

'Syd, if I may be so bold, what do those dates and numbers mean?'

She cringed. 'You _really_ want to know?'

Nigel nodded silently: if he survived this, he mused, he could always blame his forwardness on delirium brought on by sunstroke.

'The dates are, well, 'dates', and the numbers are how I used to rate the guys I'd dated after we'd,' she paused and wiggled her eyebrows playfully, as horror flashed across Nigel's countenance. 'You know, after, we'd had se…'

'Good heavens!' he interrupted loudly - shocked, even though this was what he'd half expected. 'You _rated_ them? What on? Their physique? Their performance and technique? Effort and enthusiasm? Oh, hold on… I'm not sure I want to hear this.'

'Don't then,' shrugged Sydney. 'You asked.'

They were both silent for a few minutes. Nigel returned to staring, rather unfocusedly, into the distance while Sydney continued ripping out the once-cherished pages of her past. She wondered if she ought to say something - Nigel was clearly brooding, his lips pursed and his brow furrowed, and he was wriggling on his bottom awkwardly. He was obviously dying to know more…

Even as Syd opened her mouth to give him a reassuring answer, his question blurted forth:

'Did you rate _me_? Syd - I have to know! What did I get? That first-time, back in England?'

Sydney laughed affectionately: 'Oh, Nigel! I didn't rate you like the others. It was kind of immature of me, and I gave it up several years ago…but… if I had… I would have to say…' she slowed her words, deliberately prolonging the agony, then drawled seductively: 'You'd be a perfect '10' - on _all_ counts!'

Night was still pouting, but she could tell he was slightly appeased.

'Am I the _only_ perfect '10'?'

'Of course,' smiled Sydney, making a mental note to burn the 'Fs' and the 'Ps' first, and justifying her 'white lie' by the matter that she'd raised her standards.

Nigel gave a modest, half smile and, to her slight consternation, shuffled over to her side. Boldly, he observed: 'They don't _all_ have numbers next to them, do they?'

'I don't sleep with every guy I know!' exclaimed Sydney, still more amused than annoyed. 'There's loads of people in here I'd never dream of dating - Stewie Harper is in this book. You can check if you like, but there is certainly no number next to his name!'

'Of course,' agreed Nigel, casually picking up another piece of paper as it caught the breeze.

'Goodness, here's one you've dated: Hilary Trumpkin! You could only have been 19 at the time, but you gave Hilary a '9'! I guess he was sexier than his name.'

'Yeah,' replied Sydney coyly. '_She_ was great!'

'She…she...she…!' spluttered Nigel, and for a moment Sydney was concerned he might hyperventilate. Indeed, his heart did a somersault and he found it necessary to draw long, calming breaths. '_She_! I had no idea you, err, swung both ways!'

'Oh, don't worry, I don't,' laughed Sydney, rubbing his back in calming, circular motions. 'I was young and wild. I tried everything once… or twice.'

'Wow,' murmured Nigel - the images of Sydney and Hilary in action that suddenly flashed into his mind were far from unpleasant. He blinked hard, squeezing the bridge of his nose, and tried to repress them.

Unfortunately, at that moment, a further piece of paper fluttered onto his lap. 'Well, at least you haven't slept with the new university Dean,' he observed, recognising a familiar name and address. Then a bold, red number '2' burned itself into his consciousness. 'Oh…..oh!'

Sydney grabbed back the paper, grimacing apologetically.

'I think its better I don't look at this book,' muttered Nigel weakly.

'Maybe that's better,' she agreed. 'I'm nearly done, anyhow. Then we will have to think of something else to do until we get rescued.'

'There's absolutely nothing we can do,' lamented Nigel. 'Apart from sit here with rumbling stomachs and wait - to live or die!'

Nigel gasped silently as he sensed Sydney's presence behind him, her hand on his shoulder and her lips so close that they all but nuzzled the back of his neck.

'There is _something_ we could do….'

Nigel groaned inwardly, and couldn't quite bring himself to face her. 'I'm sorry, Sydney, but really – its so hot, my head is killing me, my limbs feel like lead and…and…well, you know I have enormous faith in you but, this time, I just don't quite see how we're going to get out of here! When there's no hope of survival, it hardly seems the time and place…'

Sydney was silent a second, and then answered: 'Let me see if I can to do something about that headache.'

She eased him back so that his head and shoulders rested in her lap, and began massaging his temples with a dexterous skill. 'Better?'

'Mmmm,' replied Nigel, beginning to feel quite sleepy. 'At least you can't find any of your nasty snake-poison remedies out here in the middle of nowhere.'

'I guess not,' said Sydney thoughtfully. She wiped his face with the corner of her shirt and began dusting her fingers over his forehead and cheekbones, conveying comforting, fluttering sensations.

After a few minutes, her efforts began to liquefy the dull ache in his head and the rigid tension in his muscles, and even helped him forget the grind of hunger in his stomach. Nigel began to feel rather relaxed, as if he was drifting off across a placid ocean, a weightless, bodiliess, un-tethered spirit.

By the time her fingers stopped dancing over his forehead, and began smoothing back his damp hair, he was on the verge of not caring if it was a voyage of no return… a voyage of no return… a voyage of no return…

Nigel snatched his consciousness back from the precipice of sleep and his eyes snapped open.

'What is it?' asked Sydney, still toying with his fringe.

'Earlier,' he said breathlessly, 'when I said there was no hope, you didn't contradict me. You just said: 'Let's see if we can do anything about your headache.' You didn't mean it, did you? Because I didn't mean it – well, I did. But I'm always the pessimist, aren't I? _You_ still believe everything will be just fine, don't you? Please tell me you do…'

'Sssssh,' said Sydney, her eyes dancing with amusement. 'Of course everything is going to be fine. I just didn't think anything I said would make much difference to you, back then.'

Nigel frowned. 'Sorry, I felt a little off colour, I suppose, but I still needed to hear you say it. Even if I didn't quite believe you…'

'And do you believe me now?'

'Absolutely!' he nodded seriously. 'Well, sort of… I have complete faith in you, you know that.'

Sydney laughed. 'I'll take that as a yes, then. Look,' she motioned with her head to a smudgy, scarlet sunset dappled with wispy, low-hanging clouds. 'It's starting to get dark – that's a good thing. We'll be able to see the lights of our ship, and it will be easier for them to see our fire.'

'Great,' said Nigel, easing himself out of her lap and into a sitting position. The world oscillated around him for a moment, and he felt Sydney's steadying hand on his shoulder - then everything came to a rest, apart from the gentle swell of the encircling waves.

'Headache better?' she asked.

'Better,' affirmed Nigel, 'but not gone. I'm so bloody hungry, too - I wish we had something to eat.'

'As I said, the best thing with hunger is to do something to take your mind off it,' stated Sydney, fiddling with the fire stack.

Nigel rolled his eyes and forced a lopsided smile. 'I can't believe you're still… frisky. You're insatiable!'

'I'm stuck on a desert island with a gorgeous man – wouldn't you be a little disappointed if I wasn't?' She fluttered her long, dark lashes teasingly. 'Maybe I should be a little offended that you don't want me?'

'Of course I want you!' retorted Nigel. 'But…but…. it's just hard for a chap to perform when he's not one hundred percent and, um, now I know how _analytical_ you can be about it all…'

'I don't do that any more!' protested Sydney.

'Yes, but still, we _both_ have our standards, and, as I said, it's hard to quite feel in the mood right now…'

'I'd say this was the perfect time,' said Sydney plainly, leaving the fire. 'I thought you'd be enjoying the peace – it's not been the quietest of hunts, has it?'

'You know what I mean,' grumbled Nigel. 'And no, it hasn't been quiet. It's been a nightmare from start to, well, finish. And this _is_ probably the finish…'

'Oh, come on, Nige.' Sydney squeezed up next to him, folding her legs gracefully in front of her and leaning in so she husked in his ear: 'I know you find what we do exciting - the danger, the thrill of the chase, pounding adrenaline. Doesn't it, uh, turn you on? Just a little?'

'Being manhandled by some Neaderthal with his gun to my head doesn't turn me on, that's for sure!' mumbled Nigel, refusing to give in just yet.

'Stop being evasive,' scolded Sydney, giving his knee a playful slap.

He looked at her sidelong and admitted begrudgingly: 'I find seeing you in the heat of battle as sexy as hell.'

'And now?'

A guttural moan escaped from the back of his throat as Sydney laid cool fingers on his bare chest, and skimmed them down over the contours of his flesh, and over linen trousers, until they rested provocatively on his inner thigh.

'I think you know your answer,' he murmured, delicately weaving his fingers into the hair at the back of her head and then pulling her in for a sensual, plunging kiss.

'Well,' panted Sydney, after a minute of undiluted pleasure. 'Now we've got that sorted out, I think we'd better practice getting you out of these clothes…'

**Thanks for reading. Please review! Go on, pleeeeeeease, you know you want to…**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thank you for the reviews – love you guys :) Here is the final part of my little story. I promise I will also update 'Legend of Sydney and Nigel' very soon, but this sort of distracted me!**

Chapter 3.

Nigel was awoken by the touch of a caressing hand on his shoulder and a soft whispering in his ear. Nevertheless, he soon became aware of two further, unfamiliar sensations: the crackling glow of a fire, close by, and the cold lick of water at his toes.

Water! He reluctantly pried open heavy eyelids and absorbed the scene.

Night had fallen and the tide had, indeed, come in. From the dim light of the fire, which was scarcely more radiant than a flickering candle, he could see that they now occupied an island hardly two metres across at its widest point. Sydney crouched at his side, gazing pensively out to sea. Her fingertips resting on his chest and, with her other hand, she poked agitatedly at the withering flames with a charred pencil.

'Okay, Nige?' she asked as he sat up.

He blinked at her blearily: 'You've lit the fire – please, tell me you've seen a ship?'

'Not yet,' she admitted. 'But I thought I'd better light it anyway, so they can see us first. Besides, it will soon be…'

'…too late'. Nigel ended her sentence gravely. 'How long have we been here now?'

'About four hours. We must have been dumped at low tide - which means _high _tide must be within the next couple of hours. But even if this place is covered with water completely, there's no guarantee we will be out of our depth… '

Nigel passed a tired hand across his eyes. 'But even if we aren't - and the sharks don't get us - with no food, no water, how long will we last?'

'It _won't _come to that,' replied Sydney, but her casual tone was little strained as she settled down next to him and curled an arm around his shoulders. In response, he pulled her in close, his own arm around her waist, and glanced over at her soft rounded features and high cheekbones, ethereally illuminated by the glowering firelight. Her mouth was set, firm and resolute, her eyes blazed with belief. All the same, he swore he could feel the hand on his shoulder tremble - or was that just _him _shaking?

'Is this really it?' He whispered. 'I can't… I can't believe it. There was so much I still wanted to do…'

'Don't talk like that,' hushed Sydney. 'They'll come.' She couldn't quite disguise the content of her emotions and she wrapped her other arm around him and held him tight, not ceasing to look forwards to the far horizon. 'They'll come,' she murmured.

After a few minutes of mournful silence, Nigel asked abruptly: 'Sydney – where's that bag of Viking runes?'

'The fabric bag is waiting to go on the fire,' replied Sydney. 'The contents are stone, so they're useless for burning and we can save them. Why?'

Nigel darted for the pile of fire-fodder and, finding the little fabric bag, tipped its contents out onto the remaining sand. Rummaging enthusiastically through the scattered contents, he soon found what he was after: the dull shimmer of bronze.

'Ah! Here we are. I hid that Saxon ring we picked up in Düsseldorf in here. I guessed Albertos wouldn't be interested in the runes - not shiny enough! So here it is…I know it's not worth much, but…but…'

Sydney had risen to her feet, curious as to what he was doing. Nigel, gazing up at her anxiously, raised himself to one knee and stretched the ring out towards her. It was only then that the metaphorical 'penny dropped' and her temporarily dampened passions exploded into an ardent blaze.

'Nigel,' she breathed, looking down at his earnest, pleading expression. 'I…uh…'

'I haven't asked yet!' he blurted. 'Please, don't refuse until you've heard me out!'

'I wouldn't, but I must tell you…'

'Please!' he begged. 'Look, I know we've been together a while now, and marriage has never been on the cards… I mean, I know you've had relationships with many men… and, uh, now it seems you've _had _some women too… but that was a long time ago of course, and now you're just not the marrying type…' He broke off, and visibly panicked as his brain caught up with the previous few burbled sentences. 'I meant that in that all in a good way,' he grimaced.

Sydney favoured him with an open mouth giggle. 'I know that, but…'

'Please!' interrupted Nigel. 'Hear me out. I love you Sydney - more than life itself. You know that, and it seems - heaven knows why - that you love me! I appreciate that you're probably not keen on engagements and marriages, but I think, maybe, I am, and there's only one person in this world I'd like to marry… and seeing as I'm not likely to make it out of here, so it's very unlikely we will have to have all the bother of actually organising a wedding or anything…'

'Nigel!' interjected Sydney forcefully. 'Just _ask_ me!'

He nodded, slightly chastised, and took a deep breath.

'Sydney. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?'

For a split-second, a broad resonant silence reverberated between them. Nigel wondered if he would ever be able to draw breath again. Then, at his whole being lurched with joy, Sydney offered her hand to him.

'Yes, Nigel, of course I will!'

He slipped on the dull, yellowish ring and pressed her fingers ardently to his lips.

'And, I'm sorry I had to rush you through your speech,' she continued, 'but I spotted a ship out there just at the start and we _really _need to build up the fire!'

'What!?' Nigel jumped up off his knees like a firecracker. 'You knew all along?'

'Yeah - I was going to tell you, but then I it occurred to me that if I did, you may never get around to popping the question.'

Nigel gawped at her, speechless for a second. They his ecstasy overcame his confusion and he flung his arms around her neck.

'You knew!' he cried. 'You knew all along we were about to be saved and you still said yes!'

'Yup, I knew,' she affirmed, extracting herself from his arms and starting to unbutton her shirt. 'But we're going to have to finish this later - strip, Nigel!'

'Eh? Now?'

'Yes – now! The ship? The fire?'

Nigel blanched beneath his sunburn as Sydney whipped off her shirt and shorts and consigned them to the flames, leaving her dressed in only her red, lace skimpies.

The flames leapt a little, and began to consume the fabric hungrily, but it was obvious that they wouldn't be enough to get the inferno raging. Sydney folded her arms and raised her eyebrows impatiently.

'I can't!' wailed Nigel, 'oh hell, oh God. I wish I was dead!'

………………………………………..

'You've got nothing to be ashamed of - those pants look great on you!' observed Sydney, flashing him an encouraging smile.

Nigel's scowled back at her as she tossed his trousers onto the now vibrant inferno, his arms wrapped self-consciously about his middle. Syd, on the other hand, couldn't help but enjoy looking at him: he was wearing a rather sexy, snug-fitting pair of blue trunks - a gift from herself, since she'd found that his old selection of underwear left a lot to be desired. The low waistband nicely displayed his flat, mildly toned stomach – it was too flat and empty, right now, bemoaned Nigel. Moreover, the figure-hugging fabric showed off to advantage the sculpted curves of his pert backside.

Getting him out of his clothes, however, had been worthwhile on _two _counts: the light of the ship appeared to be drawing closer and they had to make hundred percent certain they were visible. Nigel's cotton shirt - and now his linen trousers, too - were flaring up brilliantly.

'Look at them blaze,' she marvelled. 'You'd see that light from Java!'

'Lovely,' mumbled Nigel. 'Its going to have to do the trick because I'm not taking anything else off… what are you doing?...aaaaargh!'

If there had been anywhere to run, Nigel would have attempted to flee, as Sydney whipped around the back of him and seized the elastic waistband of his trunks.

'No!' he yelled, grabbing his underwear. 'Not them - you can't! You wouldn't?!'

'Don't worry,' said Sydney blithely. 'I wouldn't - well, not unless we really have too. I'm just checking the label - 25 percent Lycra and 75 percent cotton. They'd blaze up nicely!'

'NO!' seethed Nigel through gritted teeth. 'Look - let's shout or something. The lights are getting close.'

…………………………………….

They yelled and hollered for the next few minutes - with apparent success. The outline of the boat and its array of electric lights were now clearly visible. It was a hulking great vessel, at least two hundred foot long, with a pointed stern and a tall, multi-storey communications tower. 'She looks like some sort of warship,' observed Sydney. 'I wonder who she belongs to?'

'It's a type 23 frigate,' confirmed Nigel. 'Look - they're sending out a shuttle… there's a flag on it. I can't quite make it out yet…oh, yes - it's the Red Ensign! The Royal Navy! We're saved!'

He raised his hands to her cheeks and pulled her in to for an amorous, celebratory kiss. Sydney crushed her near-naked body into his, making him acutely aware of her every, intimate curve… and his own.

'Oh God!' stuttered Nigel, breaking away. 'I'm about to be rescued by the Royal Navy in my underwear! This is terrible!'

'No it isn't,' assured Sydney kindly. 'I'm just as undressed as you are!'

'Yes,' panicked Nigel, grasping his hair at the intensity of his horror. 'But you're a girl! They'll think you look great!'

'They'll think you look great too!'

'I bloody hope not!' he wailed. 'This is my worst nightmare!'

Sydney looped her arms back around him. 'It's okay. Just think – they'll probably give you a nice uniform to wear until they can get us to land. You'll look fantastic!'

'You think?' A trace of the hope sparked in Nigel's eyes, but was soon vanquished. 'It's still terrible,' he groaned.

'Uh no - _that_ is terrible,' said Sydney matter-of-factly, nodding down at the fire. 'It's nearly out!'

Nigel's gasped silently as he felt her fingers slip down the back of his pants again, taking a firm grasp on the material.

'No!!!! You said you wouldn't!'

'No, I wouldn't,' she confirmed. 'I'm just tucking away the label I left hanging out. Look - the sea is going to cover the fire, and our feet, any moment now. Let's just yell!'

They both screamed at the top of their voices, as the last of the fire was drowned by the tide and crisp, cool water began to lap at their ankles. Nigel cowered behind Sydney, feeling all the more self-conscious as the whirring-engine of the rescue boat growled ever louder, drawing towards them under the star-lit sky. Still, he reasoned, it was worth it - now he was engaged to Sydney Fox! In any lesser circumstances, he might never have got around to it.

He couldn't help smiling beneath his blushes. A small part of him, he knew, would always be grateful to Albertos, the sandbank and the rising tide.

**Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this, or have any comments to make, please review. You'll never know quite how happy it makes us poor writers!!**


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